Poems by Steven Federle
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
The best apples are near the top
so bringing out my new ladder
I rise through the swaying branches
to reach bright green clusters,
but, intent on windfall, the Suisun breeze
flails the apple leaves
and conspires with swaying limbs
to blow me back down again.
I climb to the extreme step
and find them all waiting,
glowing, green, ready.
Rejoicing, I fill my paper sack
until its weight brings me back
to the stationary ground, satisfied
with the morning's sweet harvest.
(11 July 2013)
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